


Weak and Wanting And Yours

by XxmerthurcatxX



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, a fix it of sorts, chapter two required a rating change lol, geralt vs his feelings, i might have made her a little bit nicer in this than she actually is, now featuring, what happens after they part ways in episode 6, yennifer ships it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22179235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxmerthurcatxX/pseuds/XxmerthurcatxX
Summary: Jaskier and Geralt part ways after their fight, bent on never seeing each other again. Until Yennifer steps in and helps Geralt to remove his head from his ass.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 106
Kudos: 2790





	1. Chapter 1

Jaskier stared at the Witcher’s back. Even without seeing his face, he knew that Geralt was angry. Hurt too, not that he would ever admit it. If it were any other friend, because that’s what they were even if Geralt said otherwise, Jaskier would put a hand on their shoulder and tell them it would all be okay. 

He knew the gesture wouldn’t be appreciated in this case. The best course of action was to just move on. Pretend like he couldn’t see the shakiness in Geralt’s unfailingly steady hands. 

“Phew,” Jaskier sighed, hands on his hips and eyes squinting up at the sun. “What a day.”

No response. Right, okay, he’d sort of expected at least a grunt of acknowledgement. Perhaps he could tempt Geralt into heading to the nearest town for a good night’s rest and a bath. And ale. As much ale as he could drink. Jaskier would pay if that’s what it took for Geralt to be, well, Geralt again. 

“I imagine you’re probably--

“Damn it, Jaskier!” Geralt shouted, cutting him off.

Jaskier flinched. Geralt’s eyes were wide and full of fury when he rounded on the bard, stalking closer into his personal space in a way Jaskier supposed was supposed to be intimidating. To anyone else it might have been, but Jaskier had long grown accustomed to Geralt’s puffed up chest and angry snarl. 

“Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you, shoveling it?” he snapped. 

Ouch, okay, that one stung a bit. 

“Well, that’s not fair,” Jaskier started, but Geralt was quick to cut him off again. 

“The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it!” Geralt was on a roll now, his mouth twisted in a cruel grimace that Jaskier hated to see directed at him. Making Geralt mad was sort of his forte, but it was never like this. It all banter and inside jokes and, on occasion,  _ laughter _ . “If life could give me one blessing,” Geralt continued. “It would be to take  _ you _ off my hands!”

Jaskier was frozen in place. All the times Geralt had threatened to run him through with a sword just for a little piece and quiet...getting run through with a sword seemed preferable to this. The feeling of his heart stopping in his chest, the lump rising in his throat, the tremor moving through his entire body. For someone who communicated mostly in “Hms” and “Fucks,” Geralt managed to find the exact right words to finish Jaskier off. As if Geralt had finally made good on his threats by driving a knife into Jaskier’s stomach and giving it a twist for good measure. 

Geralt was turned away from him now, staring out over the cliffs. 

“Right, uh,” Jaskier started. His voice sounded small, even to his own ears. He couldn’t remember ever being so quiet. Then again, he couldn’t remember ever feeling so heart broken either. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Jaskier followed Geralt around so insistently. Bard’s went wherever their heart took them and Geralt had Jaskier’s whole heart from the moment he laid eyes on the Witcher. 

“Right then. I’ll, um, I’ll go get the rest of the story from the others,” Jaskier said quickly, turning to go before he did something utterly mortifying like burst into tears. He was hovering right on the edge and each step he took brought him further to it. 

He paused, realizing that this was it. If Geralt truly didn’t want him around, then he wasn’t going to stay. He wasn’t going to look for him and he knew Geralt was never going to seek him out willingly. They wouldn’t see each other again. 

“For what it’s worth,” Jaskier said, not bothering to turn around. It was his last chance to say it and he wasn’t going to waste it. And he certainly wasn’t going to risk the look of disgust that was sure to be on Geralt’s face. 

“For what it’s worth,” he started again. “If indeed, it’s worth anything...I love you.”

His voice was barely a whisper, but he knew Geralt would hear him. 

“I love you. There, I uh, I said it. Twice now.”

He swallowed hard when he got no response. Not that he’d expected one, but it hurt all the same. 

“I just...if this is my last chance to say it, I figured I better take it, but um...that was probably a bad idea. I’ll--See you around, Geralt,” Jaskier said, practically running in his eagerness to put some distance between himself and the Witcher. 

It wasn’t until he was safely tucked away at some half falling down Inn for the night, that Jaskier finally let himself fall apart.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Geralt cursed as he once again tried to heft the Kikimore corpse up onto Roach’s back, only for it to slide back into the mud with a sickening plop. He’d allowed himself to get distracted for a split second and the damn thing had sliced a nasty looking gash across his shoulder. That had been happening more often than he’d care to admit lately. 

“You’re losing your edge.” 

Geralt closed his eyes. He’d know that voice anywhere, though he hadn’t heard it in months. 

“What do you want, Yennefer?” he asked, not bothering to turn around as he lifted the stupid monster again, finally succeeding in getting it balanced on Roach. 

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

Geralt huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he finally turned to look at her. She looked good. She  _ always _ looked good. He, however, was covered in Kikimore guts. Though he wagered he still looked better than he smelled. 

“I don’t have friends,” Geralt grunted. 

Yennefer rolled her eyes. 

“We both know that’s not true. Last I knew you had a very persistent friend following you on your adventures,” she mused. “Where’s the bard gotten off to anyway?”

Geralt glared at her. 

“We’ve parted ways. For good. Did you really come all this way to ask about the bard?”

Yennefer pursed her lips. She reached forward as is to touch Geralt’s chest, but her hand went right through him. 

“I’m not really here. Just a vision I’m afraid and yes, I did in fact present myself to you to ask about the bard,” she said, a small smile on her lips at the look of surprise on Geralt’s face. 

“You’d have better luck poking your nose around fancy parties and brothels,” Geralt told her, hoping the conversation was over. But it was never that simple with Yennifer.    
  


“You’re not well, Geralt. Word around the pubs--

“Since when do you frequent pubs?”

“Gossip travels and you know it,” Yennefer snapped, quickly regaining her composure. “No one’s going to want to hire a Witcher who can’t get the job done and then where will you be? Not to mention there’s a rather unflattering song or two circulating about you and--

Geralt cut her off. 

“A song?” he asked. 

Yennefer smiled wryly. 

“Oh yes. A song. It’s quite catchy actually. All about a Witcher who breaks hearts and loses friends and smells like the back end of a mule,” she said, far too cheerily for Geralt’s liking. “Three guesses who wrote it.” 

Geralt didn’t need three guesses. He only needed one. 

“Jaskier,” he snarled. 

“Now, now, I think the boy is entitled to a little revenge. After what you said to him.”

Geralt frowned at her. 

“How do you know about that?” 

Yennefer looked down, for once in her life having the decency to look at least a little bit guilty. Geralt’s eyes widened in understanding. 

“You’ve been to see him,” he accused. 

“Not on purpose. We bumped into each other at a ball that I had to attend for...political reasons,” she explained. “He got a bit too drunk and ended up spilling the whole thing. 

Geralt arched a brow. 

“And you had absolutely no part in loosening his lips,” he said knowingly. 

Yennefer looked sheepish. 

“I may have refilled his glass a few too many times, but it came from a place of care, even if you don’t believe me capable of such things,” Yennefer said, holding up her hand to stop whatever jab was about to come out of Geralt’s mouth. “I know that it’s complete nonsense that Witcher’s don’t have emotions. Just as I know the guilt of what you said to him has been eating you alive.”

Geralt couldn’t find it in himself to protest. 

“You miss him,” Yennefer said. 

Part of him was glad that she had said it, since he wasn’t likely to say the words aloud himself. No matter how true they were. 

“He won’t want to see me, Yen,” Geralt said. 

Yennefer huffed a laugh, shaking her head. 

“You’re right. Writing rude songs about you and spreading them around isn’t just a ruse to get your attention,” she deadpanned. Her image began to flicker. Whatever spell she was losing must have started to wear off. “I’ve got to go. Do yourself a favor, Geralt. Make amends with the poor fool.”

Geralt nodded, unsure if he was actually going to follow through or not. 

“Oh, and if you choose to keep your head in the sand instead of admitting that his feelings for you aren’t entirely one sided, let him down gently. He’s had more heartbreak than an ordinary human can handle,” she told him, her voice surprisingly soft. 

“Yen,” Geralt started. 

“Yes?” she asked, her image almost see through now.

“It was real between us. Even with the magic,” he admitted, the words heavy and uncomfortable in his mouth. There were only two people in the world who made him want to spill his guts and it seemed he wouldn’t be able to escape either of them. 

Yennefer smiled. She looked sad, but there was fire and determination in her eyes. 

“I know. But he had your heart long before I did, even if you didn’t know it.”

Geralt watched as she faded away into nothingness, only the smell of lilac and gooseberries left behind. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. That smell used to overtake him, awaken senses he didn’t know he had, and leave him shivering when it was gone. Now, though it brought comfort and familiarity, it had little other effect. 

Hm. 

Times had changed. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Finding Jaskier wasn’t difficult. In fact, it might have been the easiest quest Geralt had ever been on. The bard had made quite a name for himself these days, playing royal feasts and parties, always in high demand from one court to the next. 

By the time he arrived at the feast, it was winding down. Most of the guests were too drunk to take much notice of Geralt, but he kept his hood up just the same. It didn’t provide much anonymity, but it was enough for Geralt to move amongst the tables without drawing attention to himself. 

Jaskier was seated by himself, a rare sight, tucked away in a corner with a large bottle of some expensive looking alcohol in front of him. From the looks of it was already more than three sheets to the wind. 

“Um...hello,” Geralt said awkwardly. He wasn’t exactly sure how to go about this. 

Jaskier, who had been staring resolutely at his lute as thought he’d forgotten how to play it, slowly dragged his gaze up to look at Geralt. 

Geralt swallowed hard. Jaskier looked...different. There was stubble on his chin that hadn’t been there the last time they’d spoken, and his hair had grown out a bit, curling a little just under his ears. His eyes though, were still bright blue and captivating, even glassy as they were from the booze. They briefly flickered across Geralt’s face before dropping to the Witcher medallion around his neck. 

“A Witcher,” Jaskier said, his words slurred. “Not--not  _ my  _ Witcher though. D-don’t know if--if you’ve heard, but  _ my _ Witcher  _ left me _ .” 

Geralt hovered next to the table, unsure if he should sit down or not. It was hard enough for him to find the right words, what hope did he have at getting a very intoxicated bard to understand? Especially when said bard was too drunk to even recognize him. 

“Maybe I should come back tomorrow. When you’re less drunk,” Geralt said sensibly. 

Jaskier threw his head back, laughing. 

“Yeah! Yes! Leave! That’s--that’s what Witchers do best! T-They say mean things, and tell you what a  _ burden _ it is to be your friend and-and then they break your heart,” Jaskier said, his laughter sounding almost manic before his shoulders started to shake even harder and he, much to Geralt’s horror, started to cry. 

“Okay, uh, think you’ve had enough,” Geralt said, pulling the bottle out of Jaskier’s reach and moving around the table to help him to his feet. “Let’s get you to your room. If you even know where it is.” 

Jaskier couldn’t seem to get his feet under him and Geralt had no choice but to heft him up into his arms and carry him down the hallway where the guest quarters were. He tried to ignore the way Jaskier was clinging to him, sobbing into his neck. God, he felt like an ass. He  _ was _ an ass. It didn’t matter how angry he was. Jaskier didn’t deserve what Geralt said to him. 

“Thas’ m’room,” Jaskier managed through his tears, almost intelligible. 

Geralt let out a “hm” of acknowledgement and unceremoniously kicked open the door in front of them. He didn’t entirely trust that Jaskier had brought them to the right room considering his current state, but when he saw one of Jaskier’s doublets draped over a chair and a number of scented oils on the bedside table his worries of some noble bursting in were put to rest. And speaking of putting things to rest, Geralt thought has he set Jaskier on the bed. He undid the strap of the lute from Jaskier’s shoulders and set it safely on the floor next to the bed, knowing the bard would be devastated if anything happened to it. 

Jaskier curled away from him, hiding his face in his hands as he continued to shake with soft sobs. Geralt sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. 

“I’ll tell you again in the morning, when you’re likely to remember. But I’m sorry...for what I said to you,” Geralt said, putting a soft hand on Jaskier’s shoulder before he could talk himself out of it. He doesn’t say that he didn’t mean it, because at the moment the words had come roaring out of him, he had. A lot of the trouble he found himself in seemed to have Jaskier at the root of it. With Yennefer gone and a Child Surprise to deal with, he’d wanted someone to blame. Someone other than himself. 

Jaskier’s moments were slow as he pushed himself into a seated position, still sniffling a little. He wiped at his runny nose with his sleeve, something Geralt knew he would never do sober, for fear of getting snot on his expensive clothing. 

“You sound like my Witcher,” he said, leaning into Geralt’s space. “Look a bit like him too. But, but my Witcher doesn’t apologize. He says fuck too much and-and he grunts,” Jaskier said, giggling a little. Were Jaskier not drunk off his ass because he was drowning his sorrows, Geralt might find it endearing. And maybe, if he were drunk himself, he’d admit it was sort of cute. 

Geralt flinched when he felt Jaskier’s fingers on his face, poking at his cheek. He caught the bard’s hand, gently moving it away, but not letting go. 

“All you Witchers, know e-each other, yeah? If, if you see Ger--” his voice caught on the name, like he couldn’t bring himself to say it. “If you see...well, you must know who, it’s in all my songs. Not exactly subtle am I?  _ I’m weak my love, and I am wanting _ ,” Jaskier sang, his voice more than a little off key. “Was ‘bout him. They’re all ‘bout him. And, if y-you happen to see him, tell him m’sorry, okay? M’sorry for all of it,” Jaskier said, his voice cracking like he was going to start crying again. 

Geralt nodded, gently pushing Jaskier to lay back down. The bard looked exhausted and he needed all the rest he could get, considering the hangover he was sure to have in the morning. Geralt would have a cure ready, just in case. He was mentally going through the ingredients he knew he had in his bag when a hand caught his arm. Jaskier was staring up at him, a desperate look on his face. 

“I love him,” he said, with surprising clarity. “ _ My  _ Witcher. Took...Took one look at him back in that pub and...he’s had my whole heart ever since.”

Geralt let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He allowed himself a moment. One moment to reach forward and push Jaskier’s sweaty fringe back from his forehead. Jaskier leaned into the touch, yawning. 

“Not that he cares.” 

Geralt withdrew his hand, heart clenching unpleasantly. 

“He  _ cares _ , Jaskier.”

The bard’s mouth twitched, like he was trying to smile, but then his eyes slipped shut and seconds later he was snoring. 

Geralt got to his feet and headed to his bag, pulling out ingredients so he could get to work. He needed to distract himself from what was sure to be an overly emotional conversation tomorrow. 

_ They say Witcher’s don’t have emotions _ . 

Geralt never realized how truly ridiculous that rumor was, until now. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jaskier woke with a start, shutting his eyes the second he opened them to block out the bright sunlight streaming in through the windows. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, pressing his hand to his forehead like it would help at all in stopping the throbbing ache. Oh god, how much had he had to drink? He remembered singing his last song. Like always, he’d finished with Toss a Coin to Your Witcher. It was a crowd favorite that usually coaxed even the most taciturn party guests into singing along, but it always left him feeling downtrodden. Hard to escape thoughts of Geralt when all of Jaskier’s songs were about him. 

“Drink this.” 

Jaskier let out a shriek that he would deny with his dying breath, his eyes landing on the source of his woes. Geralt. Here. In his room. What the hell happened last night? 

“What are you--

Geralt shook his head, cutting him off and holding a potion bottle under his nose. 

“Drink that first. It’ll help with the hangover,” Geralt said. 

Without taking his eyes off the Witcher, Jaskier downed the potion in two gulps, gagging at the taste. 

“What the hell was in that?” he asked. 

“It’s better if you don’t know,” Geralt said, setting the bottle on the bedside table with a grimace of his own. 

Jaskier nodded, handing the bottle back to him before chancing a look down at himself. Right, he was still fully clothed which meant that nothing too crazy happened last night. Not that he expected it to, considering it was Geralt he woke up to and not some busty nobleman’s daughter...or a nobleman himself. 

Despite the foul taste of the potion, Jaskier was already starting to feel better. The pain in his head was bearable and his body didn’t ache as he got to his feet. 

“So...May I ask what brought you here?” Jaskier asked, going to nonchalant and missing it by a mile. “A job perhaps? Got a new contract?”

Geralt shook his head. 

“I was looking for you. I heard you were here,” he said simply. 

Jaskier’s heart skipped a ridiculous beat and he mentally kicked himself for the small glimmer of hope beginning to bloom in his chest. 

“Oh, here for a visit then? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint but I was only here for the night. My presence has been requested at another such gathering so I really must be--

Sometime during Jaskier’s ramblings, Geralt had gotten to his feet and was now standing so close Jaskier could smell the worn leather of his vest and something citrusy. Geralt must have had a bath while Jaskier slept and he hadn’t been shy about borrowing one of Jaskier’s oils. His favorite, he might add; orange blossom.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said, his eyes boring into Jaskier’s. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. None of it was your fault” 

Jaskier arched a brow at him, disbelievingly. Geralt huffed. 

“Fine, some of it was your fault. You do end up in trouble more than you should and you always end up dragging me into it. I spent more time keeping you from getting killed than I did actually killing whatever my contract required me to kill. It was maddening,” Geralt admitted.

Jaskier snorted, pushing past Geralt and shrugging out of his doublet, which smelled far too strongly of the booze he drank last night, and reaching to grab his spare.

“I know words are hardly your strong suit Geralt, but your apology is sorely--

Geralt’s fingers curled around his elbow, surprisingly gentle even as he turned Jaskier back around to face him. 

“But none of that means that don’t value you as a companion,” Geralt said, the honesty in his words almost overwhelming. “That I don’t...care.” 

It was more than Jaskier ever thought he would get out of the Witcher. Even on the nights where Geralt willingly shared stories of monster hunts, indulging Jaskier’s hunger for new material to write about, he had never been so open. 

“Thank you,” Jaskier said quietly. “I accept your apology.”

He expected Geralt to grunt or clap him on the shoulder in a “I’m glad we’ve cleared that up, now we can never talk about it” kind of gesture. Instead, Geralt shifted from foot to foot, a frown creasing his forehead. If Jaskier didn’t know any better, he’d think Geralt looked...nervous. 

“About what you said before you left,” Geralt started. 

Jaskier’s face went bright red. Ah right, that. His hopeless love confession. 

“Right, um, no need. We don’t, um, we don’t need to talk about that now. Or ever,” Jaskier said, hurrying around the room and collecting his belongings. He’d never actually got to put on his other doublet and he nearly tripped over his bag trying to get to it. But of course Geralt, with his lightning fast reflexes, caught him before he fell flat on his face and pulled him against his chest. 

“Jaskier,” he said, and Jaskier was so close he could feel the rumble of his voice in his chest. 

“Please,” Jaskier said, struggling to break out of Geralt’s grip. “I-If you’ve come all this way to tell me that you don’t want me, you really didn’t need to bother. I already know.”

Geralt’s frown deepened, the hands he had on Jaskier’s waist from when he caught him, holding him all the more tightly. 

“I don’t--

“I know,” Jaskier interrupted. He knew. Oh, did he know. He’d spent months trying to talk himself out of loving the Witcher because pining after an unrequited love made him far too much the stereotypical bard. 

“Jas, would you let me--

Jaskier would blame what he did next on the complete and utter desperation of not hearing the words Geralt was about to say. He needed to shut him up and not thinking clearly, he did it the only way he knew how, taking Geralt’s face in his hands and kissing him square on the mouth. 

He waited for Geralt to push him away. To tell him that it was over. That he took back his apology and that they could never be friends again. 

He didn’t. 

Instead, Geralt’s hand moved to cup the back of his neck, tilting Jaskier’s head to the side as he took control of the kiss. It took Jaskier’s brain a moment to catch onto the fact that Geralt was  _ kissing him back _ . And God, of course Geralt was a fantastic kisser. He wondered if it was part of the Witcher mutations or if the bastard was just unfairly good at everything. 

Jaskier let out a groan when his back connected with something solid. Oh, it was a wall. When had they even moved close enough to the wall for Geralt to shove him up against it and plaster his body against Jaskier’s? Not that he was complaining. He did however whine when Geralt had the audacity to break the kiss. 

“I don’t--

Jaskier huffed when the Witcher once again tried to speak. 

“Oh for heaven’s sake. What was it a pity kiss? You’re still going to tell me that you don’t want--

“I don’t want you to get hurt!” Geralt’s voice rang out over Jaskier’s own words, effectively shutting the bard up. 

“You...what?” he asked, confused. 

Geralt sighed, brushing his knuckles over Jaskier’s cheek. 

“It’s not as though my lifestyle lends itself to having a lover. And I’m more than likely to say something that’ll hurt your feelings again because, as you so kindly pointed out, words are not my strong suit,” Geralt said sadly. “If I’m what you want--

“You are,” Jaskier said hurriedly, curling his fingers into Geralt’s vest and dragging him close so he could tuck his face against the curve of the Witcher’s neck. “I don’t care about the danger. You think I started following you without knowing what I was getting myself into?”

Geralt smirked. 

“It would hardly be the first time you didn’t think about the repercussions of your actions,” he teased, his breath hitching when Jaskier bit down on his neck. 

Jaskier pulled away, smiling cheekily at Geralt, enjoying the flush of his cheeks; the heat radiating off of him. 

“What about you? Are you sure you’re fully prepared to sign on for all of this?” Jaskier asked. There was humor in his voice, but the question was honest. He knew there was no one in the world who vexed Geralt as easily as he himself did. 

Geralt smiled softly and nudged his nose against Jaskier’s own. 

“You’re the wordsmith, bard, so I won’t bother trying to be poetic. Besides, you’ve already said it best,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier frowned. 

“What? When?” 

  
“I’m weak my love,” Geralt murmured, pressed close enough that his lips brushed against Jaskier’s as he spoke. “And I am  _ wanting _ .” 


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two! Thanks for all the comments and kudos! A couple of note:
> 
> 1\. I know I write Geralt soft, but I justify that because of that soft as hell scene he has with Yennifer in episode 6. That grumpy asshole knows how to use his words when the occasion calls for it.
> 
> 2\. I did muchly too much research on historical clothing. I was trying to decide what kind of shirt Jaskier's undershirt was. It's a "chemise." I know that "chemise" refers to like, lingerie now, but back then it was a long shirt or a dress, depending on the cut.

Jaskier let out a resounding “Oof!” as he once again landed flat on his ass in the dirt. He glared up at Geralt who was trying, and failing, to conceal his laughter. 

“Oh, I’m glad you find my misery funny,” he quipped petulantly, making no move to get up. There was no point anyway. In minutes Geralt would have him on his back on the ground, which wasn’t nearly as fun as it sounded. 

“On your feet, bard,” Geralt said, offering him a hand up. 

Jaskier shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Absolutely not. This is ridiculous. You’re just going to knock me over again and we both know it,” and yes, Jaskier was aware that he was being a child. But really, how did Geralt expect him to learn basic combat when his trainer was the size of a mountain? The Witcher had an extremely unfair advantage over him. 

Apparently Geralt was done with Jaskier’s little temper tantrum and took matters into his own hands, grabbing the front of the bard’s shirt and yanking him to his feet. Jaskier stumbled, bumping straight into Geralt’s chest. 

“You can’t just manhandle me whenever you--

Geralt caught his lips in a soft kiss, effectively cutting off whatever rant Jaskier was about to go on and really, what else could the bard do but melt into it. He and Geralt had been keeping things, uh,  _ above the belt _ so to speak. For reasons that Jaskier honestly wasn’t quite sure of, but whatever the reason, it made it harder and harder to resist when Geralt kissed him like this. 

The Witcher pulled away abruptly, thrusting Jaskier’s practice sword back into his hand and giving him a light shove backwards to put a little distance between the two of them. Still a little dazed, it took Jaskier a moment to realize that Geralt had slipped back into his combat stance, his brain caught on just in time to bring up the wooden practice sword and block Geralt’s attack. 

“Oh I see, kissing me was another tactic was it?” Jaskier asked. 

Geralt shrugged. 

“Lulling you into a false sense of security,” he said, letting out a grunt when Jaskier, by some miracle, actual managed a decent jab to his stomach. “Though a Selkimore isn’t likely to use that method. A Siren might though,” Geralt continued, charging Jaskier and easily tackling him to the ground. He grinned wolfishly down at the indignant looking bard. “Or a particularly randy bandit.” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes, shoving at Geralt because as one might expect, a man his size wasn’t exactly light and he was well on his way to being crushed to death. 

“Randy bandits, please. You just like knocking me on my ass,” Jaskier grumbled, getting to his feet and not bothering to pick up his practice sword again. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Geralt called after him. 

“I’m heading back to the inn,” Jaskier yelled back. “I’m sore and tired and in need of a bath.”

He knew he was being silly, but he really was in pain. Unlike Geralt, he wasn’t used to using his muscles the way sword fighting required. It really was a good idea for him to learn to defend himself, he just wished it could be accomplished without him making a fool of himself in the process. 

All thoughts of a bath and a warm bed were put on hold when the water in the bog not more than thirty paces from where they had been practicing began to bubble. Well that was never a good sign. A hand on Jaskier’s shoulder startled him, but it was only Geralt. 

“Stay back. It might be a--

Before Geralt could finish telling him exactly what it might be, a Kikimore broke the surface with a screech, crawling toward them too quickly for Jaskier’s liking. 

“Uh, Geralt--

“Move!” Geralt shouted, drawing his sword and charging at the angry creature. 

It was a testament to how long Jaskier had been traveling with Geralt, that he didn’t immediately turn on his heels and run. He stayed where he was, watching the fight unfold, unwilling to leave until he knew with absolute certainty that Geralt had the situation under control. Jaskier may not have been present for the time Geralt was nearly drowned by one of the beasts, but he’d managed to drag the story out of the Witcher one night when the ale was flowing and the pub patrons were minding their business. 

Geralt seemed to be holding his own, like he usually did, easily slicing off one of the creatures claws. But this beast was clever. It swiped Geralt’s feet out from under him, making him drop his sword in surprise, and before he could grab it again the Kikimore was dragging him through the trees and back toward the bog. 

“Run!” Geralt shouted, still trying to break free of the monster’s hold. 

Jaskier was moving before he realized it, but contrary to Geralt’s instructions, he was running toward the beast, not away. He bent to grab Geralt’s sword, moving so quickly his lungs burned and his legs ached. A real sword was heavy. Heavier than a practice sword at least, but Jaskier hefted it over his head and brought it down on the claw that was pinched around Geralt’s leg. 

The Kikimore screeched in pain, whirling away from Geralt to face Jaskier instead. Right...he hadn’t quite thought that bit through. Tossing the sword to Geralt, knowing he would catch it, Jaskier finally did as he was told and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. A moment later he heard a choked off cry, turning to look over his shoulder just in time to see Geralt removing his blade from where he had thrust it into the beast’s mouth and out the back of its head. 

“I told you to run,” Geralt said, his voice startling Jaskier as it broke the eerie quiet of the bog.

Sighing, the bard started moving toward the Witcher, whose back was facing him. The angry set of his shoulders was too familiar and it made an uncomfortable pit settle in Jaskier’s stomach. 

“Yes, well, it was about to drag you into the water and drown you so I couldn’t exactly--

“Don’t come any closer!”

Jaskier froze. Clearly the other man was pissed, but to not want Jaskier anywhere near him seemed a bit extreme. Especially considering the bard had just saved his life. 

“Are you injured?” Jaskier asked, taking a hesitant step forward, pausing at the low snarling sound that left the Witcher’s lips. “Did you...did you just  _ growl _ at me?”

When Geralt didn’t respond, Jaskier decided he’d had enough. He stomped around Geralt so he could look at his face, his anger boiling over when the Witcher spun around to face the other way, avoiding his eye. 

“Oh for the love of--we’re supposed to be working on communication!” Jaskier flipped out. “Tell me what’s wrong. With your words... _ please _ ,” he added, feeling desperate and helpless and utterly foolish as he tried to get the other man to be open with him. 

Geralt sighed, shaking his head and for a moment Jaskier feared he might walk away, rather than use his words. 

“I don’t...I don’t want you to see,” he said slowly, voice low, as if saying the words out loud pained him. 

Jaskier frowned. 

“See what?” he asked. There wasn’t much of Geralt he hadn’t seen before. Not after the chamomile incident. Besides, Geralt was hardly a prude when it came to his own nudity, strutting around their shared rooms completely starkers. Just because Jaskier hadn’t actually gotten around to touching Geralt’s more...personal parts, didn’t mean he hadn’t seen them. So what could possibly have the Witcher so on edge?

“My face,” Geralt grumbled. 

Jaskier’s momentary confusion melted into understanding. The rumors of black eyes and veins swirled in his mind. Rumors that he assumed, like Witcher’s not having emotions, were untrue. He would have seen it if it were true...wouldn’t he? 

It suddenly occurred to the bard that he wasn’t usually up close and personal when Geralt was fighting whatever the monster of the week was. He was always too busy being unwitting live bait, or else Geralt had found some clever way to leave him behind. 

Slowly, because if the rumors were to be believed the Witcher’s were at their most feral in this form, Jaskier put hand on Geralt’s shoulder. Aside from a hitch in his breath, the other man made no move to pull away, which Jaskier took as permission to come around to face the Witcher. 

Jaskier swallowed hard. Geralt’s skin was pale. Paler than usual, nearly translucent. There were indeed harsh, black veins running along his forehead and cheekbones, stark against his complexion. It was the eyes though, that Jaskier couldn’t look away from. He’d grown to expect the otherworldly brightness of Geralt’s eyes, a shade of amber that no human possessed. Instead, his eyes were two inky pools of black and, if Jaskier were being honest, Geralt did look a bit scary. 

Still, it was hardly anything Geralt needed to keep hidden from him. Jaskier took the Witcher’s face in his hands and let his thumbs brush across his cheekbones, pausing when Geralt’s eyes closed and his fingers caught the bard’s wrists. 

“Don’t,” Geralt said. “You don’t have to--

“Hush,” Jaskier said, cutting him off before he said something stupid. 

Geralt’s mouth snapped shut and he tentatively opened his eyes, watching Jaskier’s face intently. With gentle hands, Jaskier tipped Geralt’s chin to the side, a pensive expression on his face as he examined this new side of the Witcher. With a shrug and a smile, Jaskier let his hands drop to Geralt’s chest. 

“You look fine to me.” 

“Jaskier,” Geralt huffed, a warning in his voice. The bard ignored him, shaking his head. 

“No, honestly. I’ve seen worse. Hell, I’ve seen worse from you! You think this is bad? You’ve never seen yourself when you’re covered in Selkimore guts. Or, better yet, when you haven’t had a decent meal or a nap,” he teased, eager to lighten the mood. When Geralt chuckled and looped an arm around Jaskier’s waist, he figured it worked. 

“You don’t mind?” Geralt asked. 

Jaskier pretended to think for a moment, erupting into a fit of giggles when Geralt pinched at his sides. He smiled softly, wrapping his arms around Geralt, a small shiver running through him when the other man tucked his face into the curve of Jaskier’s neck. 

“You’re not so scary, Witcher,” he murmured, nuzzling into Geralt’s unfairly soft hair. 

Geralt pulled away, his hand snaking around the back of Jaskier’s neck and the bard readied himself for a kiss. Instead, he let out a rather unmanly yelp of surprise when Geralt hefted him up over his shoulder as if weighed no more than a sack of flour. 

“Take that back,” Geralt snarled, playfully. 

“Y-You brute! First you literally  _ growl _ at me, now you’re flinging me over your shoulder like some beast bringing its kill back to its cave. Honestly it’s a wonder I--

Jaskier yelped again, blushing ten shades of red when Geralt sunk his teeth into his ass. Ah, now it made sense why he’d chosen to carry him like this. 

“Fine! I admit it! You’re scary! Completely and utterly terrifying! Are you happy now?” he asked. 

Geralt swung Jaskier down off his shoulder to cradle him against his chest instead. His face had gone back to normal, well as normal as it was for a Witcher, and he was grinning down at the man squirming in his arms. 

“Hm,” Geralt said by way of answer, burying his nose in Jaskier’s hair and breathing deeply. 

_ Hmph _ , Jasier thought,  _ perhaps the White Wolf was an even truer name than he’d initially been led to believe _ . 

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Mercifully, Geralt set Jaskier back on his feet when they reached the door of the Inn. It was rare to find a place that didn’t seem to mind the presence of a Witcher. Best not to tempt fate by drawing any extra attention to themselves. Still, Jaskier was grateful for the hand that Geralt kept on his back to keep him steady as they went up the stairs. 

If the bard had been sore before the Kikimore fight, his pain had magnified ten hold. Geralt, despite being the one to take the brunt of the attack, seemed infuriatingly fine. Stupid Witchers and their stupid mutations. 

The door was barely shut behind them before Jaskier was making a beeline for the bath, eager to soothe his aching muscles. Geralt caught him by the hips, tugging him in and nuzzling into his neck. 

“ _ Geralt _ ,” Jaskier whined. “I need a bath.”

The Witcher hummed, kissing behind Jaskier’s ear.

“You smell fine to me,” he murmured, dragging his nose along the column of Jaskier’s throat, inhaling deeply. “Like orange blossoms and vanilla.”

Jaskier shivered, his fingers sliding back to dig into Geralt’s thigh. His head lolled back to rest against Geralt’s shoulder, getting swept away by the man’s lips on his neck. 

“W-well I’m sore. My muscles ache, a-and just because you’re overly powerful Witcher nose can smell past the stench of that bog, doesn’t mean mine can,” Jaskier protested.

“You’re in pain?” Geralt asked, abruptly pausing in the barrage of kisses he was leaving on the bard’s neck. 

Jaskier snorted. 

“Not all of us are possess your, uh, physique. Falling repeatedly on my ass did a bit of a number on me I’m afraid.”

He expected Geralt to make some remark about him being useless at swordplay, but instead found himself being steered toward the steaming bath by the Witcher’s hands on his hips. His breath hitched when Geralt pulled his chemise from where it was tucked into his breeches, fingers cold where they brushed against Jaskier’s warm skin. Jaskier raised his arms without question, letting Geralt tug the garment up and over his head before he turned in the other man’s arms, hands resting on Geralt’s chest. 

Geralt pressed their lips together in a soft kiss, much softer than Jaskier thought the man capable of, and walked him backwards until he was sitting on the edge of the tub. Jaskier was breathing hard by the time Geralt broke the kiss to sink to his knees in front of him, tugging off the bard’s boots and stockings and tossing them aside. It wasn’t until Geralt’s fingers found the laces of his breeches that Jaskier flinched, just a little, in surprise. 

The Witcher’s eyes met his, hands slipping down to rest on Jaskier’s thighs. 

“Is this...do you mind?” he asked seriously. 

Jaskier shook his head, not trusting his voice. It would probably crack or come out embarrassingly high pitched and he didn’t want to shatter the moment. 

With the bard’s go ahead, Geralt undid the laces of his breeches and helped him to shimmy them off his hips. It’s not as if it were the first time that Jaskier had been naked in front of the Witcher. They’d traveled together for months at a time and eventually one stopped caring about modesty when it came to things like baths or getting dressed in the morning. There was also the one very memorable occasion of Jaskier being lured in by a siren, stripped of his clothing, and tied to a tree before Geralt finally turned up to rescue him. Good times. But now, with Geralt’s eyes sweeping hungrily over his body, it felt entirely different. 

Of course, Geralt wouldn’t be Geralt if he didn’t give Jaskier a quick push, sending him falling backwards into the hot water. 

“Oi! Was that really necessary?!” Jaskier asked, spluttering and wiping at his eyes. 

Geralt shrugged. 

“Did me some good,” he said, ignoring the tirade Jaskier began, highlighting all the reasons why nobody liked Witchers. 

“Not to mention you--

The bard cut off abruptly when Geralt sat heavily onto the stool he had placed at the head of the tub and without warning rested his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier was about to ask what he was doing when Geralt ran his thumbs down the column of his throat. He was methodical as he worked, working the tension out of Jaskier’s sore muscles. 

Jaskier’s head dropped forward, his chin resting against his chest and he let out a shaky breath when Geralt moved to work on his back. When Geralt withdrew his hands, the bard almost protested, but he heard the sound of a bottle being opened and moment later Geralt’s hands were back on him. Now, covered in some kind of lightly scented oil, his hands slid easier along the curve of Jaskier’s spine.

“Mmm,” Jaskier hummed. “T-that feels--

He broke off with a long moan when Geralt’s thumbs dug into the small of his back. 

“Good?” Geralt offered, sounding far too smug for the bard’s liking. When Geralt pressed harder with his thumbs, he forgot to be annoyed and instead leaned back into the Witcher’s touch. 

Jaskier gasped when Geralt’s hands snaked around to his front, pressing against his chest.He wasn’t sure if it was an accident when Geralt’s thumb brushed one of his nipples, but either way he couldn’t help but whine. Geralt’s mouth was back on his neck now, his teeth nipping just shy of too hard before he laved over each bite with his tongue to soothe the pain. 

All the attention was starting to  _ affect  _ the bard and he was more than a little embarrassed to feel himself getting hard. It’s not like anyone could blame him when a very sexy Witcher was currently marking up his neck and teasing at his nipples. He was only human after all. 

Jaskier pressed his legs together in an attempt to hide his arousal, stomach clenching when Geralt’s fingers dipped into the water, teasing along his inner thigh. 

“ _ Geralt _ ,” he groaned, catching the Witcher by the wrist and squeezing hard. 

“Tell me to stop and I will,” Geralt promised, his lips pressed to Jaskier’s ear, and the fact that Geralt thought for even a second that Jaskier wanted him to stop was utterly ridiculous. He didn’t want him to stop. He never wanted him to stop. 

“Don’t stop,” Jaskier pleaded, using his grip on Geralt’s wrist to guide his hand down between his legs. 

The sound that left Jaskier when Geralt finally put his hand on him would have been embarrassing if he wasn’t so turned on. The Witcher was stroking him almost torturously slow, but his grip was strong and sure and Jaskier couldn’t help the desperate little thrust of his hips. 

“Seems I’ve finally found a way to render you speechless,” Geralt teased, tipping Jaskier’s chin back and pressing a firm kiss to his lips. 

Jaskier could do nothing but moan into the other man’s mouth, gasping when Geralt bit at his bottom lip. This wasn’t going to last much longer, but the bard didn’t care. There would be time to take it slow later. But he was too pent up, the adrenaline from the day barely having worn off. He was already hovering on the edge when Geralt finally, _ finally _ , picked up his pace. The sudden shift had Jaskier breaking the kiss, throwing his head back to rest against Geralt’s shoulder. 

“ _ Oh _ . I-I can’t--” Jaskier started, his hips starting to stutter. “I-I’m--

Geralt hummed knowingly, leaning down to nibble at Jaskier’s jaw. 

“Come for me,” he murmured. 

It wasn’t really an order, but it may as well have been because a moment later Jaskier was coming hard over Geralt’s fist. His hips jerked once, twice, and then he was collapsing boneless against Geralt’s chest. 

“Gods above, where did you learn that?” Jaskier asked when he got his breath back. 

Geralt huffed, helping Jaskier out of the bathtub despite his protests. He grabbed a towel from the hook on the wall and handed it to the bard. 

“Do you really want to know?” he asked. 

Jaskier shrugged as he dried himself off, trying not to stare too much when Geralt pulled his shirt, which was completely soaked, off over his head. 

“I was under the impression that you had only slept with women,” he admitted. “I thought...perhaps that was why it took you so long to touch me.” 

Geralt shook his head, taking the towel back when Jaskier finished with it and hanging it back up. He sat on the edge of the bed and tugged off his boots. 

“You’re the one with the reputation, bard,” he reminded him. Jaskier blushed a bit at the implication. Yes. His past was a bit...sordid. 

“Yes well, I tend to leave out the bits where I fucked the nobles instead of their daughters. I thought maybe Yennifer’s crows feet comment had a bit of merritt to it,” Jaskier said quietly. It’s not like Jaskier thought he was unattractive. In fact, he’d been told by many a person, man and woman alike, just how lovely he was. But the comment from the witch had wounded his vanity, even if he was loathe to admit it. 

Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s hand and yanked him over to stand between his spread legs. He looped his arms around the bard’s waist and rested his forehead on his hip. It should have been awkward since Jaskier was still naked, but it wasn’t. It felt good, to be this close. A sort of intimacy that Geralt seldom allowed himself. 

“I was hesitant because I did not want to rush you into anything you weren’t ready for,” Geralt told him. “It wasn’t because I don’t want you.” 

Jaskier bit his lip. 

“But I’m--

Geralt cut him off with an annoyed “Hm,” taking Jaskier’s hand and bringing it to the front of his pants and oh, okay, Geralt was hard. 

_ He’s hard for me _ , Jaskier realized, feeling a little dizzy. Okay, apparently Geralt didn’t have any problems with his appearance. Good to know. Jaskier gave a tentative squeeze to the bulge in Geralt’s pants, smirking when the Witcher’s breath hitched. 

“You don’t have to,” Geralt said, despite the way his thighs quaked as Jaskier rubbed him through the fabric of his pants. 

The bard rolled his eyes and sank to his knees, fingers already working at the laces. He’d wanted to get his mouth on Geralt since the first time he saw him. Now he finally had the chance and he wasn’t about to waste it. 

It took far longer than it should have to get Geralt’s pants down far enough to free his cock. Stupid Witcher and his stupid tight clothing. Normally, Jaskier appreciated Geralt’s tighter than necessary trousers, but now that he was trying to strip the other man he was less thrilled. 

Geralt’s cock was...intimidating to say the least. But Jaskier was never one to back down from a challenge, sexually speaking anyway, and he was eager to make the other man feel good. He licked a long stripe up the underside of Geralt’s dick, before sucking just the tip into his mouth. 

The Witcher’s fingers found their way into Jaskier’s hair, not forcing his head down further, but holding on like he needed something to keep him grounded. The thought that Geralt was already beginning to lose control, had Jaskier taking him down further, bobbing his head slowly until he picked up a steady rhythm. 

“Hmm,” Geralt groaned, his thighs quaking on either side of Jaskier’s head. “That feels--

Jaskier pulled off with a wet pop, arching a brow at him. 

“Good?” he asked cheekily, recalling how Geralt had teased him earlier. 

The Witcher glared down at him, but whatever insult he was about to let fly died on his tongue as Jaskier took him back into his mouth. It was clear he was trying to keep a lid on the sounds threatening to slip from his lips, but when Jaskier doubled his efforts, bobbing his head faster and using his hand on what he couldn’t fit in his mouth, Geralt let out a string of very colorful curses. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, fingers tightening in Jaskier’s hair. He was close and Jaskier wanted nothing more than to make this man come. He wanted the Witcher to lose control. He wanted him to grunt and groan and  _ whimper _ . 

“ _ Jas _ , I’m--

Geralt warned him just in time for Jaskier to pull off, jerking the Witcher until he curled in on himself, spending over Jaskier’s fist. He was breathing hard, lips parted and brow slick with sweat.  _ Pretty _ , Jaskier thought stupidly. A quick glance down reminded him that his hand was still covered in cum. Right. That was decidedly less pretty. He moved to wipe in on the edge of the bed shirt, eyes widening when Geralt caught his wrist and brought his hand to hip lips, licking him clean. 

“Fuck me,” Jaskier breathed, getting to his feet, but staying close. 

“Maybe later,” Geralt mused, looking tired as he blinked up at the bard. 

Jaskier pressed a kiss to the Witcher’s sweaty forehead, urging him to lay back against the pillows and climbing into bed beside him. Geralt yanked his pants the rest of the way off, grunting when Jaskier flopped half on top of him, tucking his face into the other man’s neck. 

“I hope you realize you won’t be getting rid of me now,” Jaskier said and while there was a lightness in his voice, they both knew how serious he was. 

Geralt wrapped his arms around the bard, nuzzling into Jaskier’s hair and breathing him in. 

“Good.” 


End file.
